It’s Thursday night in Lititz, Pennsylvania and Woody Clarke wants to see my pubic hair. I can tell because in the last hour he’s said some variation of “c’mon, show me your bush” at least three times, and my unwillingness to show him what I’ve got under there must be wearing him down because this last time, between sinking the 9 ball and the 13, he just pointed at my crotch and whispered, “She’s on fire! Let me see it.” […]

Categories: Courtney Algeo, Story Club Minneapolis